


Zack and Jill: Natural Materials

by pr_squared



Series: Tales of the Hunt [7]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Woman on Top, meat paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_squared/pseuds/pr_squared
Summary: Jill Summers buys a leather coast and runs into an old acquaintance
Series: Tales of the Hunt [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970527
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Many times before that day, Jill Summers and her cousin Tee had visited the exclusive L'Apone Leathers on Wittig Avenue across from Mary Daly Place. Most days, they contented themselves staring at the exquisite displays in the show windows. On some days, most often prior to or immediately following a birthday- their own birthdays or someone else's - they had ventured into the outer store and examined the leather goods with the honest possibility of a purchase. They gorged themselves on the inviting sights and smells of fine leather goods, briefcases and purses as well as coats and jackets. They reveled in the sensuous look and feel of positively, absolutely decadent furs and leathers, all presented in the very latest styles. Shopping had always been a female avocation. In her own secret heart, each imagined the pure joy of possessing such flagrantly unnecessary luxuries and each nursed a quiet resentment against the lucky few who could afford them with such apparent alacrity in. Today, Jill would the ranks of the lucky few.

For all her confidence, healthy self-esteem, and good-natured moxie, Jill had never worked up her courage to walk past the ever- present, ever-smiling security guard, face the unblinking eye of the security camera squarely on, and enter the store’s inner sanctum where the jack skin leather was on display. Bulky coats, purses, briefcases, and umbrella's need be checked before one might enter. One needed to show some sort of picture identification, pass a computer check, and sign in. The store worried that some disguised agent of Save the Males might penetrate their defenses. These intrusive, yet prudent measures also served to discourage casual browsers. Few spur-of-the moment shoppers were likely to make such an expensive purchase. The elaborate measures added something more to the already substantial allure of the merchandise so carefully protected and made the items more special and exclusive.

Jill had heard all the “Save-the-Males” arguments and they did not leave her completely unmoved. She had no hatred for males for all the evil that they had done in the world. She even knew several boys who had survived the Hunt and earned citizenship. She was even rather fond of Timmy, Miranda’s boy. However, the graceful, innocent creatures of the wild had always evoked a larger share of her sympathy. However, she understood the need to limit male numbers. 

Males had once been the "Lords of Creation." They had ruled the world for millennia, but they had betrayed their trust and nearly destroyed humankind with their genius for destruction. Some said that civilization itself was women's response to male strength and enthusiasm for violence. Ultimately, civilization itself stood chin deep in a sea of chaos and women finally banded together and found their deep-rooted strength.

During the Revolution, males were nearly exterminated. Elimination of males who had fought to preserve the old order was an obvious necessity. All remembered naked pink bodies of the ousted male leadership falling from the top of the Washington Monument before its demolition. 

Women quickly discovered that a simple reduction in male numbers had finally ended war and markedly diminished violent crime. No one eyes or ears could deny the benefits. The Gender Dividend was great and lasting.

The challenge for the New Order was to restrict male numbers in the face of a persistent male birth fraction and women's vast sentimentality. Though their intellects cautioned them unceasingly, many women still found males irreplaceable in critical ways. Unchecked, however, males might recover their lost numbers in a generation and violently reclaim their lost privileges. However, allies were readily found among the women who had picked up the reins of power, long held by men, and had quickly come to enjoy their new prerogatives.

An annual Hunt was established to maintain the "Ten Percent Solution." Beginning in the summer of his nineteenth year, each boy had to survive three annual three-day Hunts. Just as untold generations of boys had shipped off to war with much bravado, now boys shipped off to their "national service" at the start of the summer and the survivors returned in the autumn to praise and general celebrations. 

Boys were taught their new role from the day that they learned to walk and learned early to question the masculinity of any who questioned their harrowing rite of passage. Young women encouraged the boys in their training for the Hunt. Boys saw the great acclaim for those who had survived the Hunts. Some say that much of male accomplishment is spurred by a desperate desire for female adulation. No more than one boy in ten survived all three Hunts, the best and brightest, to father the next generation. 

Before the Revolution, one million women had comprised ten percent of all hunters and perhaps twenty percent in Western States. Now the ranks of hunters grew with women who loved the out of doors and thrill of the chase but had been repelled by the slaughter of the beautiful innocent creatures of the wild. Males or jacks as they came to be called evoked much less sympathy. A brilliant series of scientific experiments proved that adult males suffered from irreversible testosterone poisoning and did not feel pain like children or adult women. Participation in the Hunt demonstrated loyalty to the New Order and enhanced a resume. 

The Hunt controlled male numbers but left a problem with disposal of the remains. Before the Revolution, the population of the United States had been 360 million. The population now was 180 million girls and women, 54 million boys and 12 million adult males. The annual harvest ran about 3 million jacks. Returning the bodies to their individual families for burial would have been extraordinarily complicated and poorly received. Returning the bodies to their individual families for funerals would have been extraordinarily complicated and poorly received. Three million carcasses rotting in the woods seemed wasteful and would have been a continuing feast for the vermin that spread disease. Retrieving the bodies would be distasteful and expensive enough. Mass incineration was had costs and posed a substantial environmental burden, even with staggered hunting dates.

However, creative women, being civilized beings, predictably sought the unusual and exclusive as outward symbols of their sophistication, wealth, and high social standing. Some argued the essence of human civilization itself was women's response to male strength and eagerness for violence. Women had held their own through millennia of oppression and now technology had turned the tide. A victory had been won and might be celebrated.

As in many wars, fighters quietly took trophies during the Revolution. In the Hunt, trophies were taken from the very start. Jacks like rabbits or coyotes, might be skinned. 

The creativity and imagination of the fashion industry, restrained by the harsh restrictions of the years of the Revolution and Reconstruction, rose to the challenge of a new, but natural material and its possibilities. 

Women have long been aware of the glorious sensuality of a soft leather boot on a well-turned leg. The erotic feel of tight leather pants embracing firm, youthful thighs and buttocks or even once firm, youthful thighs and buttocks was taken to new heights for some by the knowledge that the leather had been processed from the skins stripped from the carcasses of former "Lords of Creation." 

The market for leather was not limited to hunters by any means. Women, who would never themselves have anything to do with the unpleasant business of limiting male numbers, sought exclusive goods of jack leather with growing enthusiasm. Those with adequate means treasured their very expensive briefcases, purses, wallets, shoes, boots, skirts, pants, belts, vests, and jackets, and coats of genuine, certified jack-skin leather, its very scarcity added to its price which paradoxically added to its popularity and vice versa. Women of more modest means dreamed of the day when they might indulge themselves similarly and no longer need settle for synthetic imitations.

Some women even proved vulnerable to the outré urge to shock their more quotidian friends with their culinary daring. It began crudely enough in the hunting camps as a private ritual among those most deeply committed to the New Order and never discussed with outsiders. Now, at the most exclusive restaurants in our great cities, such as Frere Jacques and Les Guerillieres, in great cities across the world, an avant garde elite impress their more conventional friends and discuss the proper selection of wine to accompany an appetizer or entree featuring jacques. A red Bordeaux is still preferred by those who know when a well-manicured hand gracefully impales a lean sliver of fillet of jacques on the prongs of a finely made sterling silver fork and neatly maneuvers it between brilliantly colored lips, past gleaming white teeth, and into the moist embrace of a discriminating tongue. At home, any cabernet will do at festive times with a beautifully presented saddle or haunch of jacques. On more ordinary evenings, a zinfandel goes well with jacques stew. On college campuses, apple ale is more in order after the rally, when a trussed jack is boiled until tender, seared quickly on a spit over an aromatic mesquite fire, and then drenched in whatever barbecue sauce comes to hand just before serving. At home, soda goes well with sliced homme and cheese on rye, jacqueburgers, and sausages.

Many, who cannot imagine themselves slaughtering and dressing a steer, chicken, or even a fish, purchase neat and tidy packages of cellophane-wrapped butcher meat without a pause, much less a twinge of revulsion. Similarly, many who found the messy details of the Hunt distasteful, still share in its fruits with enthusiasm and look forward to their annual packages of jacques, already butchered into commercial cuts, neatly trimmed, and wrapped in white butcher paper. Overnight, the problem changed from too many males to too few male carcasses to satisfy a vigorously growing demand.

Over time, the Hunt was supplemented by other, more controllable procedures. At first, males who attempted violence or shirked participation in the Hunt were summarily harvested. Feedlots and abattoirs were established so that these males might be managed safely and slaughtered humanely and sanitarily. Later. substantial bounties became available for women who chose to sign over their sons and spare them the terrors of the Hunt.

Jill’s cousin, Tee was an accomplished hunter. Her skinning pole had yielded the leather for her stylish coat. Once, Jill had even hunted with her. She bumps and bruises but no success. She and her cousin still laughed about her adventure. 

Jill thought about the substantial year-end bonus check molding in her bank account, grabbed Tee’s hand and headed for the inner sanctum for the first time. She had watched her diet meticulously and put in three arduous nights a week at the gym for six full months as she had demanded of herself. She had met every requirement that she had set for herself. Now it was the time for her to claim her reward. 

Her housemate, Amanda, owned a jack skin coat and Jill envied the admiring looks Amanda attracted. Tall, blonde, and broad shouldered, Amanda was a striking enough woman, but when she entered a room draped in her long jack skin coat, people ran to do her bidding and everyone else suddenly faded into the background.


	2. Chapter 2

The security guard saw two thirty-something women approach her check point. The guard's fierce stare was usually enough to discourage teeny-boppers out for an adventure. She had seen these women in the store before, she remembered, but they had only looked longingly into the inner salon but never ventured in themselves. Many women looked longingly into the salon, hoping for a glimpse of the exclusive merchandise inside, but never dared to cross the threshold themselves. These two were well-groomed and nicely enough dressed. She always looked at the shoes. You can tell much about a woman by her choice of shoes. As long as they registered and followed procedures though, it was simply none of her business anyway. Six months ago, a Save the Males demonstration had gotten out of hand in the street and the store had lost a front window. The police arrested the ring leaders and the court ordered them to pay restitution. Today, things were much more peaceful - fortunately. The women showed their ID's. The guard ran them through her computer check and smiled. They signed in and she waved them past.

To the left of the door was a small table with a wine service. A young hostess asked pleasantly if either would care for a glass of wine.

"A chardonnay, please." asked Tee. The hostess removed a green glass bottle from the ice bucket and poured her a glass. "Thank you!"

"You're very welcome. And you, ma'am?" The hostess looked at Jill.

Jill hated being called "ma'am" but she would not allow anyone to spoil this day. She inhaled the acrid- smokey aroma of the chrome-cured leather goods. Her eyes feasted on the leathers’ rich ivories, tans, browns, blacks. She closed her eyes for a moment in anticipation. "A cabernet, please. A big cabernet," she said.

The hostess poured Jill a glass of a blood red cabernet and smiled. She herself would choose the cabernet, but it was not her place to judge the customers' taste.

"Thank you." Jill said and sipped the fine wine whose full softness exploded on her palate and rich fragrance filled her head.

The hostess pointed out a tray with crudities and crackers crowned with either cheese or paper thin slices of homme, cured round of jacques. Tee took two crackers while Jill thought of her diet and took only a stalk of celery.

Finally. Jill and Tee moved into the showroom. To their left, they saw briefcases, purses, wallets, and gloves of the finest jack leather. They saw a set of leather luggage that would cost Jill the greater part of her annual salary. To their right, they saw racks of coats and jackets of various styles, lengths, and hues. Jill found herself in a battle to control her breathing - taking slow deep breath to calm her mounting excitement. She wondered if her bonus had been large enough to make a purchase here. Tee was standing similarly wide-eyed and breathless with a smear of cheese on the corner of her mouth.

"Hi!" said a second smiling, pleasant, well dressed young woman. "My name is Maddy. How may I help you?" She pointed to her name badge that did confirm that her name really was "Maddy" precisely as she had stated.

Jilll opened her mouth to speak, but on the first try no words came out. She swallowed hard and tried again. "I'm looking for a leather coat - a full-length coat."

Maddy smiled benignly. This customer was not the first whom she had seen, tongue-tied and speechless. "Would you, you know, prefer a dyed or natural leather - the standard finish or the new, softer buckskin finish."

Jill looked beyond the sporty waist-length bomber jackets and mid- thigh length car coats arrayed before her. Then she found the rack of breath-takingly splendid full length coats whose long lines swept gracefully down to mid-calf or to even to the ankle. 

Tee looked at the coats and thought for a moment of the number of jacks who had been slaughtered and skinned to stock the salon. Each jack had a mother, and many had sisters or women who had cared for them. She wondered if Miranda’s Timmy might end up as the rain hood of a stylish coat or an executive briefcase. She thought briefly about pulling Timmy's skin around herself to keep out the damp and chill. What on earth would Miranda say?  
Mranda enjoyed his skin right now, thank you, still on his altogether pleasing frame. One must admit, however, that looks faded whatever you did, but a high-quality coat could last for decades with proper care

Looking at one coat quickly after the other, one coat captured Jill's fancy almost immediately. She tried it on and she liked the fit and admired fineness of the stitching. She liked the rich way it looked on her and its sensuous feel. Jill tried on other coats but kept returning to the first one.

Jill tried it on once more and inspected it more closely. She noticed a small imperfection over her left breast and pointed it out to Tee and the salesgirl. It looked like a healed scar, slightly raised and slightly paler than the deep, rich brown of the leather. She found others.

Tee shook her head and suggested that anything so expensive should be at least perfect when you took it home from the store."

Maddy, the salesgirl, looked and touched it lightly. "Jack skins are a natural material, you know. You might see marks like this on jacks who are wounded in a Hunt and survive to heal and scar. You know, there must be some sort of story here,” she speculated. Jack skins don't talk, you know. You can use your imagination.”

For a moment, Jill wondered if this girl, who worked right here at L'Apone, might have PET'M sympathies.

Maddy continued, "Perhaps he was taken in the Idaho mutiny. I really think, you know, that small imperfections can give a coat character. They make each coat special and unique. If you want absolute perfection, you know, you can always try vinyl."

Jill tried on several other coats and as much as she tried to convince herself that any other might somehow serve, her attention was drawn back to the first. The first coat still seemed somehow just right even though she now found additional scars on the left back panel. Wounds, she pondered. She thought back to her hunting adventure with chagrin. She had wounded the damned bugger – the one that got away!


	3. Chapter 3

Zack pitched forward with the impact of the bolt and fell hard. Rising unsteadily to his knees, he allowed no more than a single groan to escape his lips. With fierce resolve, he mastered his pain, twisted about, and ripped the damned bolt free from his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth and simply refused to acknowledge the injury. Slowly and with extreme effort, he clambered back to his feet. He faced his assailant, a young woman, no older than his eighteen years. Without volition, his lips drew back and he showed her his teeth in a display of animalistic of defiance. Clumsily reloading her crossbow, she looked up at him, shook her head slowly, and actually smiled. She just wished that her shot had hit a more vital area, but she had drawn his blood and he would soon be hers. 

Zack tossed the bloody bolt aside and ran. Branches tore at his bare skin. These new scratches were negligible compared to the terrible wound in his left shoulder. He crashed through the brush, running along the crest of the steep ridge. His wounded shoulder burned and geysers of pain erupted through his body with every step. Breathing became more difficult but he ran. 

Jill hunched back over her crossbow and tried to reload again, now overwhelmed with her disappointment in herself. She had had her opportunity and she had missed despite hours of practice. In her exasperation, she couldn't even make her trembling hands do as she wished to reload the damned thing. She took off her cap and shook her head in frustration. Perspiration made her dark brown hair limp. Finally, her bow was reloaded and she set off again with a tremendous will and determination of her own. She had not come this close to be denied. He was not the finest specimen whom she had ever seen. She had seen others more impressive, but he was to be hers - her very first. 

Jill matched her quarry stride for stride. She had trained long and hard for this day. The separation narrowed and she had a fleeting opportunity for a second shot. She raised her weapon, aimed, and fired again, only to miss again when the boy tripped on an unseen tree root rising from the rocky soil.   
Pain wracked Zack's frame. Somehow, he threw himself in the opposite direction of his impending fall, lurched forward, and maintained his balance and his forward momentum. Pain assailed his consciousness - denying him awareness of anything around him but the pain but he kept going somehow, tapping a reservoir of strength that he had not known that he possessed. 

Zack ran. The first day had been utterly uneventful. He had hidden himself carefully and waited. No one had disturbed his hiding place. The second day was also unremarkable.

Earlier this morning, he had found a good hiding place and hid. Later, he spotted two hunters and sneaked away unseen. The afternoon had then been very quiet until the shit-eating cunt had flushed him from his hiding place. She had come closer and closer. He had held his position and waited for the right moment to sneak away. If he waited too long, she might simply take him where he lay with his face in the dirt. He did not want that. A moving target may be easier to see but much harder to hit. On the other hand, he might abandon a relatively safe position too soon only to stumble into another hunter. He did not want that either.   
Finally, he finally crept carefully away. He had an hour to go before the horn sounded and this Hunt would end. He had seen nothing when a crossbow bolt ripped into his shoulder. Briefly, he saw the fucking minger who shot him and further back, he saw two other women. He struggled to his feet. The girl with the crossbow struggled to reload her weapon. The two ran toward him. He knew he would be pursued, and he ran.

Zack had known this day would come. His life had been quite simple up to now. He had lived at home with his mother and older sister until he was fifteen. He had heard that he once had had an older brother. When Zack was born, his mother had sent his brother to a ranch, not wishing to raise two joeys at home. His brother had earned their sister Zoey college tuition, room and board. His mother and older sister had always treated him kindly. He had only to run and play while his sister carried heavy books and spent long hours with her boring schoolwork. 

He had known about the Hunt for as long as he could remember. His mom and sister didn't hunt, but every year in late summer, excitement erupted in their neighborhood as those who did prepared for the annual event and their enthusiasm rapidly infected others. Stories about the Hunt appeared more and more frequently on the flatscreen. People well known to him in other guises paraded about on the street in their special hunting attire. Lines suddenly appeared at the archery lists at the park. Suddenly, the girls all wanted to play "Hunt" with the very boys whom they usually ignored quite successfully during the rest of the year. For three crazy days, schools and businesses were closed and all attention focused on the Hunt. 

The bland images on TV never revealed the gritty aspects of the Hunt. Although no one had ever made him look and no one had really wanted him to see, Zack and his friends somehow always found a way to see something of the aftermath of the Hunt. Even though their birth mothers and foster mothers tried to keep their charges indoors, he saw the gutted jack lashed to the back of Susan Norwich's jeep. The hairiness and heavy muscles of the mature male looked much different than his boyish frame. 

Karen Hoskins brought home a magnificent stag - a male in his third Hunt. He must have weighed more than 100 kg. She ran two strong cords through his nostrils and out his mouth and hung him legs down from the side arm of the basketball hoop at the side of her driveway for everyone to see. The boys saw him too. His head was tilted up and they couldn't really see his face. His arms hung limply at his sides and his body cavity gaped open where he had been gutted. White bone gleamed against red flesh. His male paraphernalia were a mystery. They were simply gone. The neighborhood joeys looked, equally attracted and repelled.  
Once, two days after the Hunt, he saw Sally Preston and Julia Michaels hang a carcass from the cross bar of little Katie's swing set, in need of room to work. They skinned and quartered him while Katie Preston rode around on her Big Wheels oblivious to everything around her. After Ms. Michaels sawed off his head, he hardly looked human at all. Twelve year-old Marissa Michaels had offered to help but half the way through, lost interest in the proceedings and pronounced the whole business "gross" and "yucky." The women finally saw the gathered boys and chased them away good naturedly. The jboys did not need much encouragement to flee. 

He ate well and grew. He helped out around the house and continued his training. His sister Zoey argued that they should sell Zack to a ranch and earn the bonus rather than risk him in the Hunt. His mother insisted that he deserved a chance. 

The girls still wanted to play "Hunt." Older now, they were not content with the boys running around in the formless ponchos they always wore. They wanted more "realism" they said. The boys should be naked, they insisted, just like in the real Hunt. When the boys were captured, the games changed but did not come to an end. More than one girl went home with a skinned knee or blackened eye. The boys went home with sprains and bruises too but some came home with something else to make up for all of that. 

At eighteen, Zack went off for his National Service. His mother came to see him off, even though his sister accused her of excessive sentimentality. Carrie, his girlfriend, came too. Zack knew that Carrie had cried and his mother had cried too. 

Jill cursed and paused to load once again. She waved to her partners, Tee and Jan, and once she saw that they saw her and were following after her, she set off once again in mad pursuit. Tee was of the same modest height as Jill and perhaps even slighter of build. She was the most accomplished hunter. Jan was taller and of medium build. Jan was more athletic than Tee who had more the movements of a dancer. The trees and thick brush slowed Jill down too and denied her the sure, clear shot she sought. Under the thick canopy of trees, it was more and more difficult to see through the deepening shadows of the fading afternoon. It was hard to believe that this naked male and his kind had once ruled the world. One man could simply paralyze a dozen grown women by threatening to expose his male paraphernalia. Males had had their time - like the dinosaurs - and never would rule again. 

Zack just kept running. He knew little of the former days. He had never terrorized anyone. He just kept running. He turned every so often to gauge his pursuers' positions. One, a slight girl with jeans and a camouflage vest, was far ahead of the others, but the others were also in pursuit. She raised her arm to fire again, Zack continued to run in a straight line and counted to three, slowly to himself. Then he deeked sharply to the right.

Jill fired and missed a third time, but the bugger had cut too sharply on the narrow trail and lost his balance. He fell, rolling and bouncing down the steep side of the ridge, totally out of control. 

Zack almost fainted from the pain when he finally came to rest at the bottom of the hill. His side was wet with blood and plastered with adhering dirt, twigs, and leaves. He rested for a few seconds until his head cleared. Apparently, he could move both his arms and legs - nothing was obviously broken - though his left shoulder pained him greatly. Tears welled up in his eyes. Through the tears, he saw one woman climbing down after him doggedly. Somehow, he crawled forward again on both legs and one arm. His left arm dragged limply behind him. 

Jill swore again - somewhat more colorfully than the first time - and slammed a fourth bolt against the stock of her crossbow and worked the windlass to the sticking place - this time without a thought or moment's delay. She hoped that the motherless bugger had broken something in his fall. However, she saw him recover enough to crawl off into the heavy cover at the bottom of the ridge. Jill turned to spot her partners once again. Tee and Jan were closer now. Both were experienced hunters and she did not look forward to their taunts. She turned quickly back to her quarry and set about picking her way carefully down the steep hillside. 

Suddenly, Jill heard a commotion behind her and turned to the sound of excited shouting. She saw another jack burst out of the trees - half again bigger than the boy she pursued - running along the crest of the ridge. Apparently, he been flushed by another party. He stopped abruptly – he must have seen Tee and Jan. He made a sharp, right angle turn and charged down the hill toward her. He hadn’t seen her at all! 

Jill turned from her wounded prey and took aim at this new inviting target. He was a broader target, though moving. Hitting a moving target is much more difficult than hitting a stationary target but he ran straight at her. She aimed quickly and pulled the trigger. Her arrow lodged itself in the meaty part of his brawny thigh. This was simply not her day. 

Pain shot up his leg as red blood streamed down the pale skin of his thigh. Only then, he saw Jill. He was no more than 10 meters away. He screamed in pain and rage. He decided right then to flee no more. An end had come to flight. He bellowed his defiance and charged right at Jill, shouting obscene threats and waving his heavy muscular arms. 

Jill stood transfixed, cradling her unloaded bow and made no effort to defend herself. She was in a state of shock, physically and emotionally. The jack was huge to begin with and filled space in an assertive male sort of way. His male parts displayed themselves quite aggressively. His face - no - his whole body was contorted - twisted - by rage. Jill felt absolutely nothing. She did not feel fear or panic. For a long moment, she stood as if she were merely an observer to this wild scene and not someone who was an actor central to the melodrama. 

The wounded jack literally hurtled into Jill. He was twice her size. She had made no move to avoid contact and they crashed to the ground heavily together. Her bow fell from her grasp. The jarring fall finally awoke her from her trance. She tried to free her hand and grab her Janie knife from its sheath on her belt. The jack saw the knife also and desperately tried to wrestle it free. 

Just then Tee came to the top of the ridge. Perspiration darkened her blouse under her armpits and in a semicircle between her breasts. She saw the jack and Jill, tumbling together down the hillside. She lifted her crossbow, cocked and ready, and flipped off the safety. She stopped short of releasing the bolt. She simply could not fire safely for fear of hitting JIll. With a shout to Jan, she tossed her bow aside, and charged down the hill herself, unsheathing her thick bladed Janie knife. Her feet hardly touched as she seemed to fly above the ground. 

Jill was clearly over-matched. Her skill and training could not fully compensate for the jack's advantages in weight and strength at such close quarters. The jack weighed more than Tee and Jill together. As much as Jill, he was fighting for his very life. His hand came closer and closer to yanking Jill's deadly knife from its sheath. 

Suddenly, Tee crashed onto the pile. The impact cost Jill her breath. Tee wrapped her left arm around the jack's strong neck and tried to pry him off Jill with her adrenalin enhanced strength and all of the leverage that she could muster. No success. With one strong movement, he brought his head forward again against Tee's best efforts. Her leverage was insufficient and the jack had a tremendous size advantage. His skin was slippery with sweat and the odor of his maleness and his exertion was almost overpowering. Gathering her wits when simple brute force failed, Tee drew her Janie knife from its sheath. She found her opening and strongly jammed its thick blade home under the rear of his skull, smashing through base of his brain. At once, the creature stiffened and went limp. 

Jill lay beneath his dead weight, gasping for breath and unable to dislodge him. Together, Jan and Tee were finally able to rolled him over onto his back and free their friend. Jill stood only with difficulty as Jan helped her to her feet. Her clothes, face, and hair were fouled by his blood, brain fluid and worse. The jack had lost control of both his bladder and his bowels when he died. Jill finally stood unsteadily, hands on her knees. The wind had been knocked from her and she fought to catch her breath. Tee asked repeatedly if she were hurt but Jill was simply too winded to talk. 

The second party of hunters stood at the top of the ridge, looking down. Jan looked up and waved. They had been the ones who had flushed the jack. They waved back in good humor and then disappeared back into the woods, still looking for their quarry. Time remained before the siren marked the end of the day. 

Satisfied now that Jill would be okay, Tee and Jan inspected their jack who now lay supine on the rocky ground, arms and legs akimbo. Jan felt his throat for any sort of pulse. Finding none, Jan yanked Tee's blade from the back of his neck and handed it back to Tee. 

Jan typed his serial number in her cellphone. His name had been Liam. He was a fine stag, in his third and final Hunt. 

Tee cleaned her knife on the jack's hairy chest and placed it back in its sheath. She assessed the heft of his pecs and flanks and gauged the size of his balls in their hairy scrotal sack. His cock was soft, but thick and Tee made a game of looping a tie over its head. Pulling the string tight, she had done what she had wanted. Finally, she tweaked his vestigial nipples in good humor. 

Jill gasped for air, then tried to speak. She promptly gagged and she vomited, setting off a prolonged coughing jag. At the end of which, she retched again. This time her stomach was empty and all she could manage was dry heaves. Jan took mercy on her and passed her the canteen with Sportsade. Jill filled her mouth, swished and spit. Vomit stains joined with her older streaks of blood, brain fluid, piss, and shit. She waited an instant, sighed, and took a deep draught. Her ponytail had come undone and leaves, twigs, and undifferentiated dirt littered her tangled hair. "I want my jack," she croaked hoarsely. Then she spoke more distinctly, "I want my jack - now!" 

"Are you sure you're up for it?" Tee asked. "It's getting late. We've got this one!" 

"I want my jack - really. I had him, you know, if it weren't for this damned distraction. Anyway, we can’t let him suffer." 

"Well, Tee offered fondly, "you'll be mighty sore in the morning in any event. Since I caught this one, Jan can gut him," she smiled, more than a little pleased to leave someone else with the dirty work for a change. “Liam, I’d like to introduce you to my skinning pole!” Tee taunted. 

"Help me get the bugger hung, before you run off!" Jan implored. Working together, the three hoisted the jack head down and tied off the rope. Jan made careful incisions on either side of his neck to open his large blood vessels and still leave his windpipe and esophagus intact. "I wish I had a hose to wash him down," she commented as he bled out. 

"You'll figure something out! Let's see if we can find this guy a sidekick. Can't let him get lonesome in the truck on the way home," Tee offered. 

Jill retrieved her bow and found it broken. Tee found hers and passed it to the younger woman, loaded and cocked. She showed Jill how to work the safety. Only then, the two set off further down the hill. The sun was setting.

They quickly found the place where the jack had ended his fall. Jill showed Tee the flattened grass and obvious blood stains. However, Tee first found his path into the brush and showed Jill the way. 

"How long do you think it's been since he was here? Ten minutes - fifteen minutes? I winged him good! How far do you think he's really gotten?" Jill asked. 

Tee raised her finger to her lips in the universal call for silence. She then pointed to herself and gestured to Jill. She would follow on the trail and Jill would hang back a dozen paces so that she might have time to react when Tee flushed him. “Just don’t shoot me,” she whispered.  
Jill acknowledged the plan with a wave. 

Tee gave her "thumbs up" and set off in a cautious pursuit. A creature as large as a jack had to leave a trail. However, more than one jack may have been hiding today. The jack was wounded and as likely crawled as ran. He was bleeding and blood might leave a trail. As much as she feared anything Tee feared picking the wrong jack's trail. She might find blood along the path where a wounded jack had passed earlier in the day or where a hunter had dragged or carried a field dressed jack back to the staging area. 

The trail took her to a small stream. Tee walked upstream and downstream. She might have lost him had she not seen a knot of flies buzzing over a blood speckled leaf. The blood was of medium consistency, not the frothy pink of a chest wound or the deep beet red of a liver wound. It had no yellow or green lumps that betrayed intestinal contents. 

She checked her watch. This was taking longer than she would have liked, but she suspected that her quarry was moving even more slowly. Jill tagged along behind her and scanned the brush intently. 

The trail seemed to come to an end. Tee scanned the ground and saw only leaves and the usual detritus of the forest floor. Then she searched the surrounding brush and finally looked into the trees. Perhaps the damned jack had climbed a tree! She saw nothing still. Jill looked too and saw nothing. 

Tee's eyes returned to a seeming pile of leaves. Why would such a pile collect in that particular place? Staring at the pile, it seemed to move. Was it the wind or was it throbbing at the rate of breathing? Tee shook her head and flashed a small smile. Jill was still clueless. Tee pointed to the pile and Jill was even more confused. This was her first hunt after all. Tee pointed again and finally Jill figured it out. 

Jill raised her bow but Tee motioned for her to hold. Tee pointed to Jill’s knife. "Take him with your knife," she urged silently. 

Jill shook her head, no. She had had a belly-full of belly to belly fighting. She raised the crossbow and tried to decide where under that pile of leaves the jack was lying and how she might hit a vital organ this time. She studied the leaf pile and waited. She shook her head again and looked over to Tee.   
Tee struggled to keep from laughing out loud, but she had been a novice once too. She pointed to herself and gestured sharply to warn Jill to be ready. "Just don't shoot me!" she formed the words silently. 

This was Jill’s last chance. She counted on her fingers, "One, two, three!" She shook her leg to limber it up. Then she strided over and kicked the pile once - leaves scattered and nothing more. Then she kicked the pile again. Leaves scattered once more but her foot struck something solid. 

A naked jack exploded from the pile and Jill was as ready as she would ever be. He was moving quickly but the range was short. Her bolt took him in the flank, but diagonally, angling out, away from his spine as he twisted to get away. 

He ran a few steps further, enough to make Jill curse her luck, but only a few steps. In his weakened state, his loss of blood from the earlier wound and his utter exhaustion from the prolonged pursuit, the wound was enough to stop him. He swayed, then simply collapsed. 

Jill grinned ear to ear. She put down the bow and unsheathed her Janie knife. She gave Tee a joyful thumbs up and approached the crumpled figure cautiously. Tee smiled back at her, remembering her triumph of her own first kill. Jill crouched beside him and placed a finger on his neck to feel his pulse. She felt once and moved her fingers, then felt again. A pulse was there. 

She had her jack, though. A quite unremarkable specimen but he was hers. She flipped him over onto his back all by herself. He groaned terribly when he hit the ground and jarred the bolt lodged in his side. Jill crouched beside him and examined her quarry. He was of medium height and lean, his belly was flat. His boy-parts were on naked display. It was hard to believe that males once ruled the world with those things. She could see where he had pulled the arrow though his left shoulder and blood still seeped from the wound. She saw the arrow in his flank that protruded out his side.

"You know. Tee, just two years ago I was playing huntress in park." Jill turned to the task at hand. 

In all her dreams of hunting, she had never looked forward to this part. He was a fine jack, but no better than average. She would not take his head for a trophy, even though he was her first kill. Jill lifted his chin and he did not resist. "Your pain is almost over," she whispered, "Thanks for a great run!" Jill looked to Tee for a last bit of encouragement and raised her knife to cut his throat. 

Tee smiled and gave her a "thumbs up." Suddenly, a siren sounded and Tee’s face dropped. "Stop!" she shouted. "Stop! Jill! The hunt is over for today." 

"Come on!" Jill pleaded. He's almost dead anyway. I spent the whole damn afternoon chasing him and he's mine! 

The returning hunters gathered in the staging area with their quarry. After she had bled and gutted him, Jan had dragged their stag back to the staging area with Tee’s help. They hung him again, scrubbed him down thoroughly with anti-bacterial soap and hosed him off. Then, they carefully dried him inside and out with paper towels. The warden came by to register the kill and add his serial number to others listed at the website. He was a fine stag They would skin him then let him hang for a couple of days in the meat locker with his tenderloins wrapped in cheese cloth, then break him down into quarters. 

Jan thought about her hometown celebration. Younger girls took turns swinging from the hanging metal chain impatiently as older teens wrestled as a scrubbed and scoured eighty-gallon drum into the fire pit under the ten-foot steel tripod. The drum was half-filled with water from 5-gallon containers brought up from the Clubhouse in a flat-bed truck. Salt, vinegar, pepper, garlic, rosemary and about 10 pounds of onions were thrown in and the fire was lit. 

Meanwhile, volunteers worked in the clubhouse kitchen, chopping cabbage for slaw, shucking corn, peeling turnips, and scrapping carrots and parsnips. 

Others retrieved the piece de resistance from the meat locker. The flayed headless carcass lay supine on the table. The bony fingers and toes had been trimmed as waste. Several tendons around the knees were clipped and his lower legs bent back all the way around backwards so that his ankles rested bizarrely on his thighs. Someone always made a joke about chiropractors. Then someone then always retorted that this poor jack needed more than a chiropractor to get back on the road. The inverted knees were swung up under the armpits and pinned to them with metal skewers. His ankles dropped against his meaty buttocks and his arms were snugly wrapped around his contorted thighs. His ankles and wrists were neatly tied with heavy twine and pierced with a metal skewer, hand over hand, foot over foot, then hands over feet. The skewer was anchored in his lower spine. A compact shape would ensure even cooking. Finally, the spit was inserted and the stays anchored in his shoulders and rump. 

The cooking method was traditional. The carcass was lowered into the seething cauldron and boiled for two hours with onions and various spices in order to assure tenderness. Then it was withdrawn on its spit and was seared over an open flame. The carcass was basted lavishly with a vinegar mustard barbecue sauce. As the outer layers browned and crisped, thin slices of flesh were shaved off with a sharp knife, exposing less cooked layers underneath which in turn were basted generously and seared. Thinking of it made her hungry. 

Jill helped her wounded boy reach the aid station. His name was Zack, she learned, Zack the jack. Altruistic medical students volunteered their time and skills too. Zack would get patched up, Jill was certain. He would get time to heal and recuperate. But his body would always carry the scars of their battle. Jill still had her regrets. 

Faith, Tee's sister, had done no better Jill. She hadn't even seen a jack except for the ones taken by other hunters. All that was left for her was to join with those admiring Tee's kill. "You mean Tee wouldn't let you take him? You had him!" she responded when Jill told her the story. 

"Smile!" Tee urged positively. "Jill showed her character. We have rules and we followed them. Without rules, we are no better than the beasts ourselves." 

"I still want my jack!" Jill insisted, still hurt. 

"Better luck next year." Faith responded. "For both of us." 

"Okay. Okay. You always remember your first one. You'll both really do better next year." Tee offered. " I'm just so sure you will!" 

"We really couldn't do much worse." Jill pouted. 

"Mom named her ‘Tee,’ ‘Charity' - she should have named her Hope!" Faith flashed her exasperated smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Zack or "Zack the Jack," recovered from his wounds. His attitude and cheerful manner quickly won the favor and attention of the volunteer nurses in the infirmary at Camp Cady Stanton. In reality, they weren't really nurses, but they were college girls who functioned as nurses given the less than formal requirements of Camp Stanton. Zack's wounds healed slowly and he stayed in the infirmary for two full weeks.

Sheridan attended college in the City and served as a nurse on the night shift. Between her schoolwork and her job, she had little time to frequent the popular hangouts with the other students. Her friends teased her saying that they would go crazy surrounded by some much eager-to-please healthy young cock. Sheridan laughed and replied that the poor sick jacks in the infirmary were not particularly enticing, even to her.

It all began that night when Sheridan found him masturbating. He hadn't heard her at all when she walked onto the ward. Busy spanking the monkey, he was in truth oblivious to the world. He was humiliated beyond words. He hurriedly rearranged his blanket as best he could. His feelings about Sheridan and the other women were confused enough. He was afraid of them yet he was attracted too. Sheridan was beautiful and kind. Her perfume somehow affected his brain and her mere presence befuddled him. In her presence, he could hardly form sounds into words and nothing that he said ever came out anything like he intended.

She saw his distress and honestly tried to make him feel better. She well understood the importance of controlling male numbers, but she admitted to her attraction of individual males and her own atavistic impulses She saw no reason to make things any more unpleasant than they need be. She hoped that she was in no danger of confusing her own physical needs with her love for her friends. Kindness and generosity were virtues that had more to do with her than with her charges. She told Zack that he had no reason at all to be ashamed. All males masturbated, she had learned in class, and he was certainly a male.

The kinder and more understanding that she was, the worse Zack felt. The more gently she spoke, the more he just cringed. He just wanted to disappear completely from the face of the earth. As she spoke, she touched the tell-tale wet spot. She wanted to learn more about males, she told him, and perhaps, he might masturbate just for her sometime. 

Zack regained his strength and his wounds healed leaving obvious scars. After a couple of weeks, he was returned to the barracks. He continued on his rehabilitation program and received special rations. His first work assignment was right back in the infirmary. He washed the floors and cleaned the bathrooms and bed pans.. The work was menial but he was trained for little else and he enjoyed the fuss that the girls made over him. 

However, over the next few months, memories of that night with Sheridan ruled his fantasies. Thoughts of Sheridan intruded into his conscious thoughts also. People would speak to him and he wouldn't hear them. He would stare into space and see only Sheridan.

Several weeks later, Sheridan suggested that he might shower in the infirmary before returning to the barracks. The infirmary had hot water while the barracks did not. He emerged from the luxurious shower and found Sheridan standing there holding a big, fluffy towel. Zack blushed beet red from head to toe. He asked for the towel politely. Sheridan shook her head "no," and motioned for him to come closer. Sheridan watched the two of them in the mirror as her hands explored his body. Not a square centimeter escaped her minute attention. Afterwards, she needed a shower herself.

Dr. Eileen McCollough stuck her head in and saw them. Always a pleasant sort, she volunteered time from her veterinary practice to help out at the camp. She grinned broadly. "You kids playing doctor - again?" she teased cheerfully. She was known to associate with PET'M members, but as long as she obeyed the law, she could hold any political opinion that she chose.

Zack finished his duties one Friday and washed up to head to evening mess. Nicole, Sheridan's friend, stopped him and told him that she and Sheridan had signed him out for the weekend. Given the dangers of female sentimentality, two women were required to sign a male out of the camp and share responsibility for his timely return on Monday. Nicole had provided the critical co-signature.

Zack was put up in a guest room in Sheridan's apartment. Zack was sitting in a loveseat, wearing the formless smock that jacks always wore. He did not know what to expect. Zack thought back over his brush with death in the Hunt. In his mind, he went over the chain of circumstances, unlikely circumstances, that had allowed him to survive. Somehow or other, the damned bitch had not killed him with three or four shots at close range. She had been about the cut his throat, when the horn sounded and her friend stopped her out of some sort of regard for sportsmanship. Zack knew many who had been taken. As he thought about his future, his anxiety mounted.

Sheridan knocked and opened the door. She stood in the doorway, the hallway light making her negligee and silk robe translucent. She was always beautiful. She seemed literally to share his sadness. She came over and sat next to him. Her perfume filled his senses. She urged him to  
lay on his front and then began a back massage. Her soft hands were remarkably strong as she massaged his shoulders. She lifted his gown and methodically worked her way down to his delts, flanks, and lower back. He was already lost in sensation when her hands slipped lower and she kneaded his buttocks. Without a word, she brushed his balls and firmly gripped his penis, already erect, in her well-manicured hand. She worked him to orgasm skillfully and relentlessly. His need to come matched her desire to make him come and he was helpless. Judgment fled. After he spent, she rested her hand between his thighs until he caught his breath. Her smile showed her triumph.

"Kiss me,” she said as she left the room. They kissed. His kiss was ardent but unskilled. It was a beginning and not an end.

Sheridan signed out Zack several times and each time, Nicole would always co-sign. Sheridan and Zack would shower together. She never tired of touching him and she showed him how he might touch a woman and give her pleasure. First, he learned to use his hands gently on her luscious body. He learned that he might stroke her but he must never try to grab or hold her. Later, she taught him how to use his lips and tongue. She taught him how she liked her mouth to be kissed. Then, she taught him to use his mouth to pleasure her sex. She used his penis to pleasure her sex but never let him have intercourse with her. One's first male was very special. She brought him to ecstasy with her hands and mouth, time and again. He spent hours with his head nestled between her trim thighs, bringing her to orgasm again and again, drowning in her fragrance and overwhelmed by the reflection of the intense pleasure that he gave her. Sheridan loved his ponytail which grew long and thick with her encouragement.

Once, Dr. McCullough signed Zack from the camp herself. A friend of hers named Diana cosigned and they took Zack to some sort of meeting where about thirty well-dressed women sat and talked. Everyone was very nice and spoke very nicely to Zack. It was all very fancy. However, Zack was bored and there really wasn't very much to eat. 

The nights and days with Sheridan were idyllic. However, Zack clearly remembered the first time that Nicole joined in when he was at Sheridan's. Any friend of Sheridan was a friend of his. In particular, he owed her a large debt because she was the one who had had made these visits possible. 

Nicole, blond, but as finely featured as Sheridan and perhaps a year or two older, deftly avoided Zack's outstretched hand. She reached up and took his face in both her hands. She drew him to her and kissed him fully on the mouth. As they drew apart, her tongue lingered on he lips. Confusion mounting, Zack looked at Sheridan, puzzled. Sheridan looked at him and smiled.

"Mmmm!" Nicole purred. "He is delicious, Sheridan, just like you said." She looked at Zack. Her eyes seized his. "I've had a terrible day, Zack the Jack. Just get naked and remind me how hot your body is." Sheridan said nothing at all but went into the kitchen to get the wine for everyone.

He was naked in an instant as he had been wearing no more than his formless gown that reached to his knees and fastened with a single button. Nicole looked him up and down, smiled and grabbed his cock. She pulled him to her and kissed him again. Without volition, his mouth opened to the probing of her tongue. When she finally broke off the kiss, he was breathless. Nicole stepped out of her skirt and ripped off the thong that served as her panties. Then she settled back on an overstuffed armchair. "I need to come, quick and hard! We can talk later."

His rampant sex leading the way, he went over to her. He leaned over and kissed her fully on the mouth. By some sort of atavistic instinct, he tried to position himself between her thighs and line up his aching cock with her inviting cleft. Nicole broke off the kiss with some effort and saw his cock nestled right at her opening. With a strength not expected from someone of her slight build, she put a hand on each of his shoulders and pushed him away and laughed.

"Take you time, Zack the Jack! I'm not going anywhere for some time." She drew him down and he pleasured her with his mouth as Sheridan had taught him. Nicole sighed with pleasure. She came and came again. She quickly drank down the wine that Sheridan had brought her in one gulp and then urged Zack to bring her quickly to another orgasm and then another.

His tongue touched her again and she jumped. She pushed him away and he still tried to touch her again. She slid her hand over her sex. Now, he was really confused and he looked up. He saw her literally drunk with pleasure. Her head lay back, reeling. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth was half open. Her flushed skin gleamed damply with perspiration. "Just a second, Zack the Jack, my poor pussy is too sensitive right now."

He moved his mouth to her once more, relishing his moment of power. She raised her legs and shifted her pelvis. To his shock, his tongue made contact with her anus. She nearly jumped out of seat and groaned aloud. Worried that he had done something wrong and somehow hurt her, Zack tried to move away a bit but her two long legs locked around his back and held him close. Two hands grasped his hair with preternatural strength and kept him firmly at his task. It wasn't at all as unpleasant as he had feared. She came again massively, discharging fully to the ends of her fingers and her toes. Nicole pushed him away and went limp. Zack fell back on his butt. He looked back at her and for a moment, it looked as if she had died.

Zack squatted back on the carpet and looked up. Sheridan's fingers were deep inside her pants. She also looked flushed and excited too. She held Nicole's skirt in her other hand. Zack wiped the wetness from his face with the back of my hand. 

"Feeling better, Nicole?" Sheridan inquired mischievously. ""Here's your skirt. Get yourself straightened up and we can still make our dinner reservation." Zack looked at them, puzzled. "Sorry Zack, no jacks' – no boys allowed. I didn't suspect that you and Nicole would become such good friends so quickly." Sheridan explained with an ironic smile.

Some other time, perhaps?" Nicole offered with a smile getting up out of the chair with more difficulty than she expected, finding her legs still somewhat weak beneath her. She excused herself and came back dressed with her hair and makeup in order. Given their recent intimacy, Zack prepared to kiss her as she left, but she managed somehow to interpose her hand between his lips and her face. Her face flashed distaste and she wiped her hand thoroughly on his chest. "Zack the Jack, you should clean up too and save us that hard-on for later," she quipped as they left. "We'll be back for dessert."

Later that night, Nicole and Zack shared his hard-on as promised. He laid supine on the narrow bed and Nicole straddled his hips. His raging cock, double sheathed in two rubbers at her insistence, thrust deep inside her as she ground her sex against his pubic bone. Sheridan, no longer content to be a spectator, knelt over his chest with her lower legs hooked under his armpits. She faced her friend and presented Zack with her ass. They hadn't done this before, but she was curious to try what her more experienced friend had so obviously enjoyed. Sheridan slipped her foot under his head. Simultaneously, she lifted his head and lowered her bottom and he finally got the message. From the little that he could see, Sheridan and Nicole were embracing and kissing deeply.

Eventually, both woman had come and come again to their complete satiation but Zack still hadn't come at all. Nicole stripped off the rubbers and Sheridan got a two minute egg-timer from the kitchen. The two women strict took strict two minute turns milking his cock until Sheridan finally made him come. She was quite pleased with herself. "Practice makes perfect," she quipped. Somehow, they all slept together wedged on that narrow bed.  



	5. Chapter 5

When the police officer showed them the video tapes of Zack at the radical PET'M meeting, his mom and sister simply couldn't believe it. Zack had never been a rebel. He had never challenged the system. He had trained diligently for the Hunt and certainly done his best to follow all of the rules. His mom just cried. At first, not even Zack's sister, usually the most clear-headed of them all, could decide what to say or to do.

“it’s not illegal, is it?” she begged the police officer.

The police had watched PET'M for years. As long as PET'M kept to propaganda - what they called information and truth that others called misinformation and lies, they could be tolerated but watched. “Save the Males” was a greater threat, 

However, when they broke the law, someone had to do something. Diana Winters, a close friend of Eileen McCullough, was their leader and she had been implicated in the vandalism at L'Apone Leathers on Wittig Avenue. The damage had run tens of thousands of dollars. Someone had to pay.

Diana Winters. had cosigned when Zack had left the barracks and attended the fateful PET'M meeting. The authority’s tolerance for female activists was much greater than for male radicals. Perhaps Zack's interactions with Ms. Winters and Dr. McCullough, known PET'M activists, had tainted his impressionable male mind. Zack would be taken in for questioning. 

Zack's mother cried for a long time. She had really tried to give her son a chance.

Zack's sister Zoey, though, recovered more quickly. She was the most rational of them all, as usual. "If they hold a hearing and find him guilty, we'll lose him anyway. If we sign him over now, we'll lose still him but we'll get the bounty, at least. Zack's mother cried again but his sister made sure that she signed the papers properly. Her brother was on the scrawny side but they would make good use of him. 

Sheridan's heart was broken when she learned the Zack had been arrested. Nicole explained that she had sensed that Zack was a little too full of himself and tried to parley his sexual talents into a modicum of power. She had tried to encourage Sheridan to enjoy other males too and had warned her of doting on just one too exclusively. With his hot body and women's vast capacity for sentimentality, she could well see how old Zack the Jack was a potential danger. She had always thought him cute but a bit uppity. She promised to do everything that she could to help Sheridan get over him. 

Shelby Barnes had worked in the abattoir for the summer. She not only earned a good salary, but she also earned credits toward her college. Some found the work distasteful, but she had grown up on a farm and knew something of the inner workings of beasts and fowls. Shelby had never hated them. She even thought that boys could be kind of cute, but she had a job to do. She put them down peacefully and they never suffered unnecessarily.

A dozen stunned jacks hanged in a line, heads down. As she walked down the line, cocks and fat balls, of various shapes and hues, flopped right into her face - like ripe fruit ready for harvest. Some cocks were rampantly erect and arched forward yearningly. These poor jacks never lose hope, she mused. Shelby really liked males and once in a great while, finding a particularly inviting member right in front of her, gave him a little peck of a kiss

At least once a day, the thought struck her that males once ruled the world with those pitiful things. One man might paralyze a dozen healthy adult women simply by threatening to expose himself. Now, males and their male paraphernalia were relegated to their rightful role in service to civilization. . 

Once, she remembered, she had opened her mouth to take a deep breath and found herself spitting out a penis. Her friend, Caitlin had had a similar experience in a local night club with a table dance.

Shelby stuck each hanging jack in turn. She opened deep cuts on either side of his neck, opening the large blood while leaving his windpipe and esophagus intact. Shelby worked briskly. 

One boy made her pause. She saw the pale pink scar on his left shoulder and touched it gently. "Poor baby," Shelby cooed. It was slightly raised above the surface of his skin but not inflamed or tender at this late date. "I wonder what happened to you? Squeezed a pimple? A wound from the Hunt?” Shelby slid her hand over his belly. She reached up and captured his flaccid cock. He was warm in her hand. 

Well, the summer was almost over. Once the heads were removed, the jacks lost their resemblance to anything human. 

The skin of a cow or horse was called a hide. The skin of sheep, goat or jack was simply a skin. The skins were trimmed, then fleshed by machine, and cured by soaking in brine for 16 hours. The salted hides were shipped to tanneries, there soaked in rotating wooden drums. Hair was removed by soaking in lime and sodium sulfide. Afterward the alkali was neutralized with acids and the skins were treated with enzymes to assure softness. Then they were pickled in water, salt, and acid. Finally, the skins were tanned with trivalent chrome and fixed with sodium carbonate. The wet skins were wrung, then split and shaved as desired. The skins were dyed and lubricated to obtain the final product.

At the end of this complex, smelly process, Anna Bischoff had the job of sorting through the tanned skins. Fortunately, she worked far from the noxious tannery. She saw her job as reclaiming the blossoms from the dung heap and guaranteeing that something of lasting value was recovered. The humanoid form of the jacks was only vaguely apparent in the finished skin stretched out on her worktable. One skin in particular was marred by several healed wounds.


	6. Chapter 6

Jill just stood still in the middle of her foyer, just glad to be home at last. Despite her best efforts, unbidden images crowded her mind. It had been quite some day. She had worn her new leather coat for the first time. She could tell the difference in the way people saw her. The saleslady had waited on her first and the girl parking her car had done a double take.

Miranda, of course, had asked her how she could wear such a horrible thing. Jill explained while minks and coyotes were bred and slaughtered for their skins, jacks were put down simply to limit male numbers. Their flesh and skins were secondary. Burning or burying the carcasses would be wasteful and unsanitary. When males saw their fellows hanging in butcher shops and sophisticated ladies adorned in finely made leathers made from the skins stripped from their bodies, they must know that times had changed forever, and the world would never again be what it had once been. Jill didn't think that she had done much to change Miranda's opinion. That girl just let her heart rule her head. 

Miranda and her PET’M, jack-hugging friends would not spoil her day. Jill was exhilarated but exhausted. She closed her eyes and felt the earth spinning on its axis at a substantial speed and orbiting the sun at some great velocity. She saw the sun and all her planets shooting at an enormous rate through the galaxy which itself was moving yet more quickly. 

Jill awoke later that night. She got up out of bed and drew on her robe against the nighttime chill. Then she went quietly to the hall closet and turned on the light. Her new coat hung there, glowing warmly in the incandescent light and filling her closet with its unique acrid smokey aroma. She ran her hands over the soft leather and relished its sensuous feel. She shed her nightgown and stood naked in the cool silence. The closet light cast bizarre shadows on the ceiling, walls, and floor. Quickly, she slipped the coat over her bare shoulders. The rich silk lining was cold on her bare skin and she shivered. The leather fragrance filled her head. She examined its imperfections in the mirror - left shoulder. she thought of the one who got away and laughed. 

Jill looked at herself in the hall mirror and saw herself an elegant thirty-something year old woman, of medium height and build with dark hair and large brown eyes – her best feature – who had made something of a success of herself. She touched the sensuous leather over her chest. Her breasts responded to the pressure. Her nipples stood erect and brushed against the smooth silk lining. She hugged herself and sighed from the sensation. What would Miranda think of her?


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda came home after a trying day. Seeing Jill hadn’t helped. Jill did look great in her new coat. It did look warm. Miranda couldn’t understand how a person as kind and perceptive as Jill could actually wear a coat made of the skins of male humans. “Jack” was just a name used to dehumanize them and much what was said was pure sophistry.

Her Timmy opened the door for her. He put her brief case in the den and scurried around to make Miranda comfortable. He looked quite comfortable himself, in his bare feet and his loose-fitting caftan. She closed her eyes and relished the warmth indoors. A trickle of water from the melting snow on her hat seeped in underneath her scarf and dampened her neck. A night's sleep in her warm, dry bed would be welcome. Timmy took her gloves, hat and scarf and laid them out to dry. Next, he helped her with her wool coat. Miranda helped Timmy wrestle off her boots. These were most certainly cow hide. She undid her blazer herself. Timmy hung that up and returned with a robe. She slipped out of her dress and into the fluffy white robe. Then with a sigh, she collapsed back onto the easy chair facing the window that looked out over the few lights that marked Pleasanton at night. Timmy brought her a glass of pinot grigio.

The wine was refreshing if not outstanding. She raised her hips so that her Timmy could remove her pantyhose. A gesture of her hand told him to undo his button and shed his caftan. In a second, he stood naked before her. In another second, he knelt between her thighs. His nose, lips, and tongue pleasured her sex with ardor as well as practiced skill. She pressed his head to her fiercely as her sighs became groans and her wine sat temporarily forgotten on the side table. 

Minutes later, they retired to her bed. Facing his feet, she straddled his head. He tormented her with his eager tongue. Miranda reached over and searched her nightstand. Fortunately, the controller lay be it belonged. She pressed one button and watched his sex rise promptly from between his thighs. 

She shimmied down his body and lifted her nightgown to rub his silky shaft against her hungry sex. She slipped him inside. His rock-hard sex filled her to an aching fullness. In the mirror, she watched the place where their bodies joined. She pressed a second button, and he began to vibrate. 

She came and came, as she often did. Soaking wet with her juices, he was still ready to give her yet more pleasure, all the pleasure that she might want. Finally, even she had had enough for tonight. She disengaged herself carefully, flushed and weak with pleasure. Her sex was swollen and exquisitely tender.

Timmy still stayed thick and hard for her. Her most guarded movements sparked small explosions from the fading fire in her belly. He was a good ride, the best, but after all, she had paid for the best. She pressed the controller again and his tumescence faded. 

It was cold that night and the early morning would be colder still. She let him share her bed; his bulk and warmth would be welcomed. Tommy lay supine, his head toward the foot of her bed. Miranda lay beside him. She cupped his balls tenderly with her hand and it was his turn to sigh with pleasure. Such moments made Miranda question even the “Ten Percent Solution.” Too few women had access to such powerful, intimate pleasure. Even she had to share Timmy with her housemate, Ashley. The use of male skins and flesh simply was unconscionable. She did not eat jacques or knowingly wear jack-skin leather. They had so much more to offer.

Timmy tried at once to return the attention, but her sex was still too tender even for his tongue. She pushed him away, firmly. Somehow, he was able to maneuver his head between her thighs and tease her anus with his tongue. This time, she did not push him away but arched her back to enhance the sensation. 

Her hand slipped from his balls to his soft shaft. Just holding him gave her pleasure. The smooth, velvety skin had an absolutely delicious feel that could never be replicated totally with synthetics. She remembered all of the pleasure that he had given her in any number of ways. She tasted herself as she ran her tongue over his glans. She tasted herself and not him. She never had to bother with condoms. She never had suffer male ejaculate running thinly down her thigh or dirtying her panties or her linens. 

Miranda let him sleep, when she awoke for work in the morning. He slept on while she showered and enjoyed her coffee. However, Ashley finished her thirty minutes on her stair master and saw an opportunity. 

Ashley roused Timmy to shower quickly, then stripped off her own perspiration drenched clothes. She threw her clothes into a corner and dragged him dripping from the shower. She hadn’t all that much time. She loved the way that he licked her breasts and the sweaty places under her arms. His mouth touched her sex and inhaled her essence of sweat, piss, and female arousal. She could wait no longer. She grabbed the controller. They kept a spare in the bathroom. He was thick and hard and ready for her – as always. His wet body slid against the tile floor as they moved together. She could ride him forever. Her nine o’clock appointment would have to wait.

As willing and able as Timmy was, Ashley was glad that she and Miranda had had him augmented. Pills had their limits and urethral suppositories could never be found when they were most needed. Sometimes, even the most obedient boy lost control and ejaculated. Now, Timmy was always ready to serve them and nothing was ever left to chance. Timmy's penis had been augmented surgically and all the capricious fleshy structures replaced with more reliable mechanical workings. He would be hard when required but never ejaculate. From time to time, the controller would be misplaced, but she and Miranda were more than pleased with the results and had never regretted the expense. Timmy hadn’t complained but he did cry from time to time.


End file.
